Seconds that seemed minutes long ticked by, and an almost uncontrollable urge to yell at the top of his voice seized hold of Dawson. He curbed the urge, however, and was suddenly of half a mind to speak in German to the man cracking his ribs with the gun muzzle. In fact, his lips moved to speak the words, but he stilled them at the last split second as something seemed to tell him not to speak in German. "I don't know what this is all about, Mister," he said in a low voice, "but you've got the wrong two guys. Just who do you think I am, anyway?" "I _know_ who you are, Karl Stoltz!" the other grated. "It is no use. Nothing you can say or do will help you!" Dawson started to tell the man to put it in English, as he did not understand German. But suddenly he realized that Freddy and he had both plainly shown that they understood German. So to act ignorant would simply be stupid. "So I'm Karl Stoltz, eh?" he finally echoed in German. Then switching to English, he said, "And just who in heck is Karl Stoltz? Reach into my upper left pocket, Mister, and you'll find all my papers. And you won't find the name of Karl Stoltz on any of them!" "Of course not, you stupid fool!" the other retorted. "But we know who you are. And so does Herr Baron. He will be glad to see you, Karl Stoltz. _Ja, ja!_ _Very_ glad!" Dawson started to speak, but at that instant he saw the two slit headlights of a car coming along the street. It slid up to the curb with no more than a soft mechanical whisper of sound, and came to a stop. The door opened, and a shadowy figure stepped out, gathered the limp Freddy Farmer up in his arms, and dumped the English-born air ace down onto the floor of the car, as though he were no more than a wet sack of meal. "You--!" Dawson began savagely. But that's as far as he got. A crack on the side of his head sent stars and comets spinning, and seemed to paralyze his entire body from head to foot. By the time he was able to shake off the paralytic spell, and take stock of things, he found himself beside Freddy Farmer on the floor of the car. A pair of heavy booted feet were resting on the small of his back, and the car was in motion and pulling away from the curb. The first thing he did when complete consciousness returned was to move his head as close to Freddy as he could, hold his breath, and strain his ears. Almost instantly a great wave of relief flooded through him. He could hear Freddy Farmer's regular breathing. At least the blow Freddy had received had not cracked his skull and killed him. He was just out cold, that was all. Was that all? It was more than enough. It was too much. And as the car rolled on almost silently down the pitch dark street Dawson mentally promised himself that the instant he was given the opportunity he would pay it all back to these two rats, and with plenty of interest.